Angelus Mortis
by Salazar Tarrant H. Slytherin
Summary: "I don't think he's a psychopath. He's much more than that... He's a fallen angel. He's Satan." Harry is not the son of James Potter. In fact, Harry isn't even his real name. But at the tender age of four his soul left his body, due to his 'families' loving treatment. And so he left with his true father. Happy and content. (Comment/follow and I may add another chapter!)


Harry's chest risen and fell with weak gasps and his body shuddered in pain at the sudden movement.

It _hurt._

His chest, his legs, his arms, his feet, his hands, his back… _Everything_ hurt.

He huddled into a tight ball, warding off the offensive cold as it seeped through his wooden paneled cupboard. The movement alone causing him to whimper as the ache in his chest increased tenfold and spread throughout his body, he _throbbed_.

He wished he could die, to be rid of the pain and fall into the calming, loving clutches of Death.

Loving because he knew death was near, always saddened, always yearning. Waiting.

Waiting for Harry to finally crossover and leave his abusive, ungrateful relatives.

Ungrateful because they didn't realized what a gift Harry truly was.

A beautiful creation made my Death itself.

Though Harry didn't know at the time, being a mere boy of four, he still realized some thing's others his age wouldn't ever come to.

Life was a bitter lie.

A truly horrid, disgusting place to live in.

With rape, torture, poison, drugs, abuse, murder…

Everything was a lie. Death was a promise however.

A promise that connected all living beings together.

A promise that Death would meet all in due time.

A small, watery smile laid upon the boys bow shaped lips.

It would be his time soon, he realized, noticing how it became increasingly harder for him to deliver well needed oxygen to his lungs.

His uncle had gone to far this time.

With whips and spikes and bats and knives…

He had went to far…

Harry's eyes became unfocused as breathed in a shuddering, rasping breath. A lone figure clad in a sharp black business suit swam into view, the normally stoic face lined with sorrow, his brown eyes stared upon his dying charge.

The young boy gasped, his breath becoming more and more shallower with each breath he took. His green eyes watered slightly as he uncurled his left hand, reaching out for the older male.

"Daddy."

He choked in a whisper, eyes wide and pleading. Harry had called Death himself father, because in all essence, that was what he was. His father. He could feel it, deep within himself. That the man standing before him was here to collect him, to save him, to love him.

"My child." The man replied softly, bending down to rest at the end of the bloodied cot. Ignoring the liquids spilled upon the small, meagre bed, death reached out, grasping the others small hand with a sort of gentleness you would never expect of him.

"Hurts." Harry cried, clenching his eyes tightly. Death smiled sadly down upon his son, love evident in his cold brown eyes. "Let go son," He whispered, squeezing the smaller hand lightly. "Your fight is over."

With a weak, shuddered breath, he closed his eyes slowly, the rise and the fall of his chest slowing with each passing minute until… Until he ceased to breath.

"We'll gain vengeance upon this, for that I promise my Azrael." Death whispered in a reassuring voice. He stood up slightly, letting the boys hand drop gently to the bed, he cradled his toddlers head with an affectionate yet mournful look. Brushing the stray hairs from his sons forehead gingerly, he laid a kiss upon the blood and sweat soaked temple.

"Come to me, my son. For I will protect you from the horrors of this world." He murmur red, laying the head back down on the cot delicately.

"Daddy!" The sound was strained yet he could still hear the liveliness that had entered his sons soft voice, the blissful awareness that he was now _free_ from the confinements of his small cupboard, not to mention, not to loving relatives.

"Follow my voice Az." Death commanded softly, a loving smile played upon his lips. "Come to me, my son."

Death had by now, stepped out of the cupboard without effort. He now stood in what he thought was a horribly decorated hallway. Pictures upon pictures laid upon the walls. All of the same people.

A women with straw blonde hair, her eyes dark brown and her neck strangely long. Death would have thought she had been beautiful once upon a time, before her soul begun to get tainted by the man she so surely loved. A man whom was not at all healthy looked, judging by the pictures. He had a blonde, grey streaked moustache, his eyes icy blue with a tint of greediness evident in them. He had blonde hair, along with the women, his wife. Though he weighed the opposite of his wife, quite largely, Death thought as he looked upon the pictured shrewdly.

Not one picture of his son.

Figures.

"Daddy!"

The voice broke him from his musings immediately before he was tackled by a small force.

Stumbling back, he automatically reacted, reaching to place his hands upon the figures shoulders. "Daddy!" The voice squealed and this time, Death smiled.

"My son?" He retorted, bending down to match his son's height correctly. If not a little bit higher.

"I knew you'd come for me." The boy whispered, his green eyes lighting up abnormally so. "I knew you'd save me. That you didn't abandon me." His son's eyes glazed over in unshed tears. "I knew that you didn't leave me." He whispered at last, wrapping his arms around the older mans neck and sniffling softly into the others shoulder.

Death hesitated before firmly wrapping his arms around the others middle. "I had no intention of leaving you to fend for yourself." He murmured back, reaching up to stroke the raven black hair fondly. "But I could not intervene. The fates made it so."

"Daddy." Harry breathed, smiling brightly. "Can… Can we go? I don't wanna be here when they-they…" He trailed off, but Death knew full well what he meant. His son didn't want to be there when they found, and no doubt disposed of his body.

So Death stood up, straightening his suit before holding his hand out for his son, waiting patiently for the other to take hold. "Hold on tight, son. I don't want to lose you so soon."

Harry nodded, smiling softly as he slipped his hand into his fathers larger, rougher ones. "I won't let go, promise daddy." Harry whispered, closing his eyes tightly.

"Good." Was what death responded with. He squeezed his sons hand tightly before opening the all to familiar portal. "Follow me." He murmured, tuggling the other along lightly. Harry followed without hesitation, stepping through the black clad portal, a giggle escaping through his lips as he felt the tendrils tickle his body in greeting.

Death smiled as the portal slowly disappeared from fates view, the one known as Harry Potter disappearing from Earths plain of existence from there on out.

But little did he know, that wasn't going to be his last time stepping on Earths soil.


End file.
